Start Me Up
by thestargazerj
Summary: ...I'll never stop. Witness the beginnings of the guitarists you think you know, as they try to make the big time from the ground up. But jealousy may cause one of the band to make a deal with a devilishly sly tour manager.
1. Track 1: One Bad Gig

**Author's Note:**

 **The story begins with the game's backing band (who general consensus has christened them Eddie, Scuffy, and Bob), but the guitarists will appear swiftly. A disclaimer: I am not, nor have I ever pretended to be, a gamer of any sort. I am, however, a guitarist. This makes me doubly unable to play Guitar Hero. The _characters_ , however, are rife for interpretation and just having fun. This is what I intend to do.**

 **So, nee-ner, nee-ner, nee-ner.**

Some are born into greatness. Some have greatness thrust upon them. Some hear greatness whisper in their ear, telling them what awaits them should they work hard and hone their skills.

"Hu-won, hu-too, hu-won, two, three, four."

This was not greatness. This wasn't even half-badness. This may have been goodness, as in, "Goodness, gracious, get them off the _stage_!"

Barely into the first song in their set, Skynyrd's "Gimme Three Steps," and the Fire and the Graves were having problems. One problem, mainly: their guitarist, Manny...Manly..something or another, promised he could have the song down pat by gigtime. Not only had he lied, he was bad, and he was drunk. A bad drunk liar. Drad lunk drier. Brad bunk... Gimme three sleps!

Eddie Cash, singer, gave bassist "Scruffy" Pellegro a look that conveyed how deeply annoyed he was. Scruffy responded with a look of his own that conveyed how deeply he would plant boot to ass if Eddie stopped singing now. Which was impressive, considering you couldn't see his eyes. Manny would get booted anyway, so finish as much of the set as we can.

Manny's solo came. He blew it from the first note. Some well-meaning patrons of the bar began to throw empty beer cans, having discovered that no amount of inebriation would make this racket enjoyable. One was sober enough to still have good aim, hit Manly Manny right in the forehead, and the guitarist fell back like a wood plank, like a carny promises you those wood ducks will if you hit it juuuust right, no really, have another go.

Eddie sighed, dodged a ballistic Budweiser, and waved his hands vaguely at Scruffy and Bob the drummer to drag Manny backstage while bar-goers continued to throw cans and jeers.

"What, leaving so soon? We just got the bottles in!"

"There's a darts tournament tomorrow; I need to practice my aim!"

Eddie bit his tongue, and merely said "We apologize for this evening. Thank you for putting up with us." Then he bolted backstage before they broke out the Coronas, and who should be waiting there but Xavier flippin' Stone.

Xavier Stone was a phenomenal guitarist. He looked like Jimi Hendrix. He wanted to _be_ Jimi Hendrix, sans the untimely death. Once he grabbed ahold of his blonde Telecaster, there wasn't a crowd in town he couldn't get funky. Perhaps most importantly, he actually liked the Fire and the Graves. The rhythm section, at least. Xavier eyed the unconscious guitarist, who had been left lying on the floor.

"You guys really couldn't do any better?"

"It was a last minute thing, since you backed out," Eddie countered.

"I said I'd help you rehearse, not that I'd be your lead. I don't do that whole 'rathle-frathle-rumble-death' thing. And I have a gig."

"Literally nobody actually says 'rathle-frathle-rumble.' 'Death,' yeah. But we softened up for you. Or did you think we did Skynyrd for kicks?"

"Still have a gig. A band I know." He sighed. "You guys are solid. Just not my style."

"What, like, 'good rhythm and you can dance to it'?" Scruffy huffed a laugh. The joke went over Bob's head, but he was the drummer and didn't notice, otherwise he would have reached up and tried to catch it. "We're not a bad joke, X. We're gonna make it, and we're gonna make it big."

"I don't doubt that brother, but you ain't getting nothin' if you keep that guy. We need to get you a guitarist so you guys can actually play a whole song or two." He winked, to make sure everyone knew he was joking.

Bob piped up. "Moose Lounge is having an open mic thing tonight."

"How do you know that?" Eddie asked. Bob should have been blacklisted from that club, at least seven times, by Mitch, the owner.

"Bartender there gives me free drinks when I say please."

Xavier shook his head, chuckling slightly. "Okay then. Throw that guy in a closet somewhere, and I'll meet you at Mitch's Moose Lounge in two hours."


	2. Track 2: Fish inna Barrel

Mitch's Moose Lounge was packed. Bands and talent scouts used these events as a bulk hiring fair, though how many hiring fairs had booze and dancing girls was beyond Eddie, who had one measly job as a burger joint cook.

The bouncer of the club was hesitant to let them in, after that thing with Bob and the chicken last month, but they promised to behave themselves, and tipped him heavily for his services, and were eventually allowed to walk in. Now they sat by the bar – furthest from the stage, but the only empty seating left – and nursed bottles of beer to varying levels of emptiness. Someone attempted to sit in the stool they were saving for Xavier.

"Taken," said Eddie.

"Huh?" said the usurper, who couldn't hear over the house band warming up. Eddie turned to face him.

"I said, it's taken," he repeated.

"Who are you saving it for, chinny?"

Bob dropped his beer.

Eddie ground his teeth. One of the benefits to being onstage was that you were usually too far away from the audience for them to see your face well. Eddie was not much of a looker. Actually, Eddie was quite ugly, almost terrifying to behold if the light caught his beady eyes the wrong way, but he was mostly ashamed of his malformed jawline. Just because he _looked_ like the bastard son of Satan didn't mean he had to be _reminded_ of that fact all the time.

"'Chinny'?"

Before Eddie could explain – with his fists – how it wasn't his fault the way he looked, Scruffy literally stepped between them. He faced Eddie as best he could; his entire face was covered in facial hair, except his nose, which poked out from under his voluminous mustache. The look on his beard said, not tonight. Then he turned to the offending patron, and Eddie could barely see Scruffy lift one hillbilly eyebrow a fraction of an inch. The would-be seat-thief looked between Eddie and the Sasquatch before him.

"I don't need this," he said, gathering his dignity around himself, and departed. Xavier Stone, who had evidently been watching from the shadows, walked up.

"You guys are having all sorts of good luck today," he said, grinning his obnoxiously perfect smile.

Bob checked his watch. "You're half an hour late," he noted.

Xavier waved a hand. "Encore," he said, trying his best to make that sound like an inconvenience. Encore, car trouble, decapitation. It didn't work, but nobody said anything. He really was talented, and deserved all the attention he got. The Fire and the Flames just wished they could get that lucky too. "What, no chicken tonight?"

"That was one time!" Bob protested.

Xavier laughed, then turned to the bartender. "A round of Shiners for me and my boys here!" he told her.

"Please," Bob cut in.

"We have beer," said Eddie, still in a foul mood.

"But I feel like ZZ Top here, 'I just got paid,'" said Xavier. "Lemme spoil my friends just one night?"

Eddie grunted, like free beer was as much an inconvenience as encores. It went just as well. "Boys, stage left." A small young woman with pink hair and a ripped skull tee shirt clutched a cherry red SG and was working with a truly massive array of pedals, so many it seemed she robbed the local Guitar Center and took everything she could carry. Her Line 6 amp stack was taller than her.

All eyes looked up as the house band's singer came to his mic. "Ladies and dudes, welcome to Mitch's fifth annual Open Amp guitar showcase!" People applauded. "Our first act, straight from Canada's own Nail Gunners, Judy Nails!"

"No way," Bob dropped his beer again. "She quit?"

Judy Nails was spoken by Canadians in the same hushed tones reserved for BTO and Rush. England may have conquered the America's with the British Invasion, but the Nail Gunners were the secret weapon of the Canadian Coming Over. They never made a record deal, but their self-recorded albums were passed around like dealer's numbers in underground clubs.

Now she quit, and was ready to be snatched up.

The band launched into R.E.M.'s "Losing My Religion." Judy's playing was spot-on. Fans screamed and sang along. Talent scouts took notes. And the Fire and the Flames scanned the room to see who else might want her... which was everyone.

"One more time for Judy Nails!" the singer decreed, and was obeyed with more applause. Judy threw out her fist with horns up, and walked offstage, passing the next performer, a man in a white suit trimmed in gold sequins, a gold belt, cow lick hair, and quite the beer belly. "Our next guest...Elvis?" The performer spoke, but he had no mic, so he went unheard to the audience. The singer turned back to the crowd. "Pardon me, Elroy Budvis. Really?" Once more to the impersonator. "Okay. What are we doing? Oh, all right. Ladies and gentlemen, 'Blue Suede Shoes'."

Now the audience was enraptured not by the star power on stage, but by the audacity. An Elvis impersonator following Judy Nails, playing nothing but an acousto-electric dreadnought. He played well, just... not memorably. But everyone was having fun, which was more important. A few people got up and started dancing. Xavier was singing along in his bar stool. Even Eddie, annoyingly, found himself tapping his feet. The two minute song ended, and Elroy walked up to the singer's mic to say "Thank yuh, thank yuh verra much," and bowed off the stage to polite applause.

The singer came back to his mic, still chuckling. "Hey Mitch, we might have to bring that guy back. I'm thinking 'Thursday Nights with the King,' you dig?" He looked offstage, and down to the list of guitarists taped to the floor at his feet. "Coming onto the stage now from South Peoria, Axel Steel!"

Axel Steel turned out to be a broad-shouldered young man heavy with muscle, with medium length brown hair, a sleeveless denim jacket, and a black Explorer. He began to plug in his guitar and check his tuning.

Meanwhile, a tall, pale fellow came up to the bar. AN ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGE, he seemed to say.

The bartender seemed to be in a bit of a trance, her eyes unfocused, but also annoyed, because who came to a bar and asked for 'an alcoholic beverage'. This wasn't a soda fountain. "What kind?" she asked.

The figure pondered this query. Then he pointed a long, slender – nay, bony – finger at one of the bottles behind her. THAT ONE.

"What, the whole bottle?"

IS THAT ALL?

"No, not at all!"

Negotiations took place about whether he'd like to open a tab, and excuse me, this card seems a little mildew-y, but Eddie stopped paying attention because Axel was ready and began to play Blue Oyster Cult's "(Don't Fear) the Reaper."

HEY, THAT'S MY SONG!

Eddie gave the newcomer a hateful glance, then something in his mind went *click.* He spun in his chair to see the fellow standing next to him. He was dressed in a black cloak and hood, and his face was locked in a permanent grin. But yours would too if it was a skull with blue lights for eyes.

Death turned to face him, and a single blue light went out. Was that a wink?

AN EXCELLENT PERFORMANCE, WOULDN'T YOU SAY? The words seemed to appear in Eddie's mind without passing through his ears first.

Eddie turned back to Axel Steel, who was attempting to improvise some licks. He was hit and miss in that regard.

"Kudos for trying to make it your own," Eddie allowed. "But he needs some polishing up."

AH, said Death. MAYBE IT WAS HIS FUTURE PERFORMANCE I WAS SEEING. With that Death grasped his bottle of...something, and walked through the door. Without bothering to open it first.

Eddie looked back at the stage, where Steel was soloing. Mostly he was note for note, but occasionally, he'd hit the wrong one, only to base a new riff around it so it never sounded out of place. You'd never noticed unless you'd heard it played over and over hundreds of times.

Eddie had. And this wasn't half bad. He looked at Xavier, who nodded slowly.

"X, four more beers," he said. "I need to go talk to our new guitarist."

"Please," said Bob.

**Author's Note:**

 **I apologize if it feels like it's going slow. There will be proper drama coming quite soon. Ooooooh. Also, if you couldn't catch it, yes, the Grim Reaper here is based on Terry Pratchett's Death from his Discworld series, which you should read. Seriously. But it's an homage, not a crossover.**

 **Also also, yes, the Canadian Coming Over. You really expect Canadians to call it an "Invasion"?**


End file.
